


Like Leaves On The Wind

by NahaFlowers



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, F/F, Gen, I had to write fic for these two because THERE IS NONE, I love Abigail Ashe, idk what to call this, sad fluff??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:59:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: Set during the events of 2x07. Eleanor helps Abigail escape from the fort, and in return gets far more feelings than she bargained for.





	Like Leaves On The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> I love both these characters, and was thinking how much I'd love to see fic of them together, and realised there was none (that I could find) on ao3! So obviously I had to write some.

“But you seem a formidable woman, ma’am. Perhaps it was exposure to the challenges of this place that made you the person you are.”

The girl is sweet, Eleanor thinks, and in fact she reminds her a little of herself, when she first found herself here, alone, adrift.

She is brave, too, in a way that Eleanor has so far found only in other women: not in the heat battle or heroic sacrifices, but in the set of her jaw as she carries on, despite what she has been through, what has been done to her.

She’s a little naïve too – more so than Eleanor can ever remember being, although she wonders how much naivete can survive what Abigail has been through. A little, she thinks, looking at her face, pale, dirty and determined, but not a lot.

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” she says in response to Abigail’s unphrased question.

But it sets her to thinking – Abigail had said that her father had left her behind – not in burning, lawless Nassau, in civilized London, done in the name of her protection rather than his own cowardice – but all the same – the way they saw their fathers’ actions amounted to the same thing. They had both been left behind. And the way Abigail had asked her whether this place had made her who she was…didn’t that speak of a thirst to prove herself, against her father’s expectations, in places rough and coarse, as Nassau and Charlestown both were?

This what Eleanor thinks as she hands Abigail the torch and attempts to open the gate, to no avail.

 

They hear the footsteps and voices as Eleanor is telling Abigail how Charles’s men will search every inch of the fort till they find her.

She finds she has never been so scared – not just for herself, although she has rarely been so at risk before, never put herself in so vulnerable a position, for so weak a plan – but also for the girl who, Eleanor is sure, is the only reason the plan could possibly work. The girl who has placed her trust in her to get her out of here.

Fear makes her strong, and she pulls a metal bracket out of the wall, using it to lever the gate open. It sticks still, and Abigail rushes forward to help wrench it. Eleanor manages to rechain and lock it only when Charles arrives.

 

Eleanor knows Charles isn’t bluffing, when he says there’s no going back, when he says she’ll hear from him if she goes through with this. She also knows Abigail is shaking, wide-eyed and terrified behind her. In the end, it is an easy decision to make. She chooses the girl.

She takes Abigail’s hand and leads her down the tunnel. It’s small in hers, but grips tight. They make their way through the dark and out into the open air.

Abigail gasps, taking in great gulps of fresh air, looking wonderingly at the stars. Eleanor takes her in, gut churning painfully. She lets Abigail have her few moments to savour her newfound freedom, before placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, Abigail. We must go. Mrs Hamilton will be waiting for you.”

Abigail turns to her. “What you did in there-” She halts, looking up at Eleanor as she had gazed up at the stars a moment ago. It sets something ablaze within her, something she thought she had lost when she betrayed Max.

“I don’t regret it,” she says. It’s the truth, even though she knows Charles will make her pay, somehow, if he survives the wrath of his men. She cannot regret anything she has done tonight, no matter what it may cost her.

“Won’t he -?” Abigail swallows, either painfully unsure or painfully aware of the damage men like Charles Vane can inflict on women like Eleanor Guthrie, and Eleanor is not sure which is worse.

“There’ll be hell to pay, I’m sure,” she says, as if it doesn’t really bother her, as if she really is the formidable woman Abigail takes her for – as if she hadn’t been cowering as much as Abigail as they hurried through those dark tunnels. “But you are worth more than me.”

It is true on every level, thinks Eleanor, so she absolutely does not expect what happens next.

Abigail kisses her. It is innocent but passionate, and Eleanor looks at her with disbelief and wonder as Abigail draws back and strokes her face tenderly.

“You mustn’t say such things,” she says, eyes blazing. “It’s not true.”

Eleanor smiles tiredly, looks at the ground to avoid Abigail’s burning gaze. She squeezes her shoulder. “Come on, we ought to get going,” is all she says, and they continue down the hill to the tavern where Miranda Hamilton is waiting.

 

She rises early the next morning, before first light, in order to see them off. She can’t pretend that it’s partly to see Abigail again, one last time.

The girl smiles when she sees her, clean now, and well dressed and fed, and runs forward to grip her hands. She can feel the weight of Captain Flint’s gaze on her.

“Will I ever see you again?” Abigail asks.

_Maybe_ , whispers Eleanor’s treacherous heart. _If this succeeds, and Peter Ashe becomes a frequent visitor to Nassau, then, perhaps, his daughter will have cause to come here again._

She says none of this – it would not do to get the girl’s hopes up over something she should not want, let alone her own. “Probably not,” she says instead. “But it was a privilege to save your life,” she says flippantly, trying for some levity.

Abigail, however, is not fooled. “Thank you,” she says, tone grave. She kisses Eleanor’s cheek. “Look after yourself,” and Eleanor can only nod, and smile, and back away, as they board the boat that will take them out to the warship.

She waves them off, telling herself it is foolish to cry, but that does not prevent the tears from falling. She only hopes they are too far away to see them.

She can’t help thinking she’s let the best thing that has happened to her slip through her fingers, again.


End file.
